Skeleton in the Closet
by eSemmel
Summary: It's not the power that makes the weapon. It's how you use it.


**AN:** Many thanks to Immatrael for being my Beta reader! Wouldn't be half as good without you.

* * *

**Skeleton in the Closet**

They were coming closer. The marching noises of footfalls in the dark filtered up through the grating into the ceiling vent, where a little girl was hiding. Her long, blond hair fell in sweaty tousles over her face and veiled her teary blue eyes. She couldn't have been much older than twelve. The noises approached from behind her. There were too many for only one man, but only one was speaking.

"Where are you?" said a deep baritone that sent shivers down her spine. "Where are you at?"

Finally they came into view below her. There were three of them. Three tall men were walking along the narrow corridor, all of them suit-clad, two of them striding with a businesslike air, and flanking the one who meant business. She knew that man.

An ugly smirk was audible in Richard Hellsing's words as he put on a playful, wheedling tone. "My sweet, adorable niece..."

A click at chest height betrayed the release of a safety catch as he continued. "My cute little Fräulein..."

She stilled, not daring to breathe. They were right below her now, a few scant feet away. Her heartbeat pounded quickly, horribly loud and audible in her ears.

"Heir to the Royal Order of Protestant Knights, the Hellsing Organisation, young maiden Integral Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing..."

Time seemed to still with her as she waited for her uncle to continue on his way. Eventually, he did, and his men followed.

"Integra, you don't know anything," he spoke up again. "I have waited twenty years for my brother, no, your father to pass away, yet he left with a bothersome dying wish for you to take over as head of the family..."

As they continued onwards past her hiding place, his ranting voice perversely gained in intensity.

"That won't do. That is something I cannot allow to happen. Hellsing... is mine!"

Sucking in a deep breath, a little sob escaped Integra as the reality of the situation caught up to her. She just wanted to curl up and cry, but she knew she couldn't allow herself to do so yet. She wasn't safe. Even if she could hide here, she had to come out sometime. It wouldn't get any easier if she waited till she was half-starved. Things were supposed to get easier with time. Walter had said so, but she was beginning to doubt. It had been an awful week so far, and this day wasn't shaping up to be any better.

Her own uncle turned on her, betrayed her trust so soon after Father's death. What was he hoping to gain? But no, it didn't matter. Not now, when her life was in danger. Danger... That word stirred a memory. What had her father said to her on his deathbed?

"_Integra... If something happens, if any danger comes to you, when you're faced with an overwhelming enemy, go down to the forgotten dungeon cell in the basement. There you will find one of our Hellsing family's achievements. It will serve to protect you._"

It might be a long shot. Surely, her father hadn't thought of his own brother when he had spoken of an overwhelming enemy, had he? Better to hide and run at the first opportunity than waste any time looking for a weapon of dubious power, wasn't it? It wasn't like she could ever hope to kill her uncle and his goons before they got to her, was it? Fight or flight... She was a Hellsing, dammit. There could only ever be one answer. Search and destroy.

Mind made up, the little Hellsing set about removing the grating over her vent exit as silently as she could manage. It cost her a few minutes, but at last she had it. Landing lightly on the floor below, Integra started to run. Even as a curious child, she had never bothered to really explore this part of the mansion's basement – a fact she regretted now, as she turned into a side-passage only to come face to face with her pursuers across the hallway. A shot whizzed past her ankle as she stumbled back out and ran in the other direction. The chase was on.

Her next adrenaline-filled minutes flew past too quickly for her to consciously process. Vaguely, she recalled panicked running through the labyrinthine layout of Hellsing Manor, often accompanied with jeers and shouts from somewhere just around the corner.

She almost couldn't believe her luck when she finally came upon the heavy cast iron door that matched her father's description. Grimacing at the noise it made, she hastily slipped inside and took in the contents of the cell. Her flitting gaze alighted on a dried out corpse that was little more than a skeleton sitting and staring at her with hollow eyes from below a dusty mop of black hair. She stared back in disbelief. _This is... what will protect me?_

Richard Hellsing grinned in triumph as he found the opened dungeon cell. Just in time before he tired of the little chase, he had finally cornered his wayward niece. Now to do some active inheriting. "I found you, Fräulein," he cooed as he stepped inside, his gun pointing at the shape he could barely make out sitting in the darkened room. Then he groaned as a leg bone hit his temple with the force of desperation, knocking him backwards into the arms of his aids who had just come up behind him. Next, a severed head came flying and collided with one of his men, which startled the other one into dropping their boss. Mentally cussing up a storm, Richard Hellsing tried to clear his head and to remember where he had dropped his gun. Three shots rang in the darkness. _Oh_, was his final thought. _That is where._

"And that is how my grandmother came to find her lucky skeleton Betty. She has been serving and protecting our family for generations, and I hope she will do so for many more. Isn't that right, Betty? You're such a valiant knight! Yes, you are! Yes, you are!"

"That's... nice, Doc."

"Isn't it just?"

* * *

**Omake: Weapon Care**

"Walter!"

The little Hellsing heir was kneeling over her puzzle that she had laid out on the dining room floor. One of the many detailed anatomy books from her father's collection lay to her right. It was opened to page two hundred forty-one and showed the bone schematics of a human hand. Various cleaning tools were spread about her. She seemed to be contemplating a hairbrush when Walter approached.

"You called, Miss Integra?"

As her caretaker announced his entrance, Integra's head shot up and she fixed him with a determined look.

"There you are, Walter! Good. Could you give me a hand with this?"

"What are you doing there, Miss?"

"Well," she said matter-of-factly, "I'm trying to put Betty back together."

Walter blinked. Yes, indeed. There they were. All two hundred and odd bones of the dusty skeleton had been brought up from the dungeon. Someone had polished them till they shone in the multifaceted light of the chandeliers. As he watched, Integra was carefully picking up the head and began trying to brush the long, ratty strands of black hair that remained on its dried-out scalp.

"Betty?" he repeated not-quite-incredulously, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looked the withered skull straight in the absent eye. It grinned right back at him. If he strained his imagination, its expression almost seemed whimsical for a moment there. Then Integra spoke and the spell was broken.

"Yes, Betty! She really saved my life down there. It's only fair that I give something back. Could you see if we have some wire to fix her?"

"Certainly, Miss. I'm sure I can get my hands on some... wire. If I may ask, how do you know it's a she?"

Frowning, Integra held out the head of her new friend towards him. "Huh? Look, she has long hair. I don't know any guy who would run around with hair this long, do you?" On a whim, she turned the skull so it was facing her and intoned, "Alas, poor Betty. I don't have a clue who she was."

"You've certainly got me there, Miss. I will see what I can do."

Walter took his leave in a contemplative mood. On the one hand, this wasn't quite the resurrection he had hoped for. On the other hand, it cheered him up immensely to see a friendly face again after all this time. _I guess our rematch will just have to wait a while._ He flexed his gloved fingers experimentally. Razor-thin strings of rather unsuitable wire slid over his palm. _Yes. Just you wait, Betty. Just you wait._


End file.
